


The Death Of A Surgeon

by NormalIsntInMyVocabulary



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Fantasy AU, M/M, Modern AU, Multi, Other, mature for later chapters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 12:24:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14694182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NormalIsntInMyVocabulary/pseuds/NormalIsntInMyVocabulary
Summary: There is one curse not even the most heartless people would wish upon their enemies. Just what is that? To be turned into a Shifter. As one of those unlucky few is forced into hiding for unknown crimes, he will do anything it takes to figure out exactly who is behind a string of murders under his name. But will he get very far with a mysterious hit man looking over his shoulder?





	The Death Of A Surgeon

 “Flesh isn’t as soft as you’d think it be after being outside for a few days. It gets all rubbery and begins to change colors. Hell, ya could even call it leather, even make a purse out of it if you get enough.” The man in a blue uniform was sure to get glances at this comment, the fellow customers in the building seeming to ignore his loud words. Gesturing with his fork, the end covered in syrup from the pancakes on his plate, pointed at the man across the table from him. “Barnaby, are ya even listening to me?”  
    A sigh escaped the other, smaller cop. “ _Keep your voice down,_ ” The man, presumably Barnaby, commented. “And why are you telling me this at–” He began to ask, pulling up his sleeve to read his watch. “–at  ** _6 a.m_**.? A bit early to talk about autopsies isn’t it, Wilford?”  
    “Oh sure, _an autopsy is what we’re talking about._ ” the sickly sweet smell of maple came from his food, Barnaby grimacing at the stench.   
    “I thought I told you not to bring that up in public.” There was a stern glare from the black-haired man towards Wilford. “And get rid of that mustache, you stick out like a cat at a dog park.” With a frustrated sigh, Barnaby glared at Wilford. “Shave that pink caterpillar off your lip.  _I’m serious_.”  
    “Oh come on  _Henrik_ -” The cop across from Wilford slammed his butter-knife onto the table, scowling at him. “ _Barnaby,_ ” he corrected, the other man relaxing again. “I’m not the one in hiding,” he pointed out, his tone carrying a little too far across the room.  
    “There’s something called an _‘inside voice’; **fucking use it.**_ ” Barnaby only seemed to amuse Wilford, the pink-haired man chuckling at him. “Don’t laugh at me,” he retorted in a huff.  
    “It’s not my fault,” Wilford hummed, it managing to irritate Barnaby more. “After all, I was the one that decided to help you get rid of the body. I don’t know why you’re impersonating him though.”  
    “I’ve told you this a  _hundred times_ ,” Barnaby sighed.  
    “ _Care to make it a hundred-and-one?_ ”  
    Barnaby groaned at the joke, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This guy was my only lead connecting him to my case-”  
    “ _Oh,_ ” Wilford interjected. “You mean the one that made you lose your job?”  
His words left a sour taste in the back of Barnaby’s mouth, making a  _'tsk’_  in disapproval. “Oh no,  _the other one_ ,” he stated, sarcasm dripping from his lips before he frowned. “Yes you idiot;  _what other case would I be talking about?_ ” Not giving the other man time to speak, Barnaby continued. “He was the only guy remaining on that case, and he ended up in an alleyway with-”  
    “With his head chopped up like a  _Rubik’s Cube_ ,” Wilford finished. “Yeah, I saw it when you called me to dump his body. Ugly piece of work it was too.” Wilford didn’t seem bothered by the topic, continuing to eat his breakfast. However, Barnaby’s apatite had left faster than his ex-wife.   
    “Did ya know the unlucky guy only had  _nine_  fingers?”  
Barnaby’s brows knitted together in slight confusion. “He did? Which one was missing?”  
    “I think it was the middle finger on…” Wilford struggled to remember, pointing to Barnaby’s right hand with his sticky fork.  
    “You  _think_?” Barnaby’s expression softened. “I need you to be certain. I can’t walk into the patrol station only to have my disguise-”  
    “ _ **Your costume**_ ,” Wilford corrected.  
    “ _Just how many times are you going to interrupt me today?_ ” With that, Wilford finally let Barnaby speak. “ _ **Anyways**_ , I can’t go  _strolling in_ only for my disguise to be wrong. You are aware how serious this is, right?”  
    “ _Yeah, yeah, yeah_ ,” Wilford rolled his eyes at the other. “Shifting is a serious offense, I got that the first  _fifty times_ you told me.”  
    “ _Can you not say it so **fucking loud**_?”  Barnaby looked around before putting his right hand under the table. A moment later, he placed it back onto the cold surface of the white table, his middle finger missing. “Like that, right?”  
    Wilford glanced at his hand before nodding. “ _Henrik_ ,” he began, Barnaby scowling.  
    “ _ **Don’t**  call me that,_” he stated.  
    “ _ **Henrik**_ ,” Wilford retorted in a stern voice. “You need to relax. Nobody has figured out about what happened; let alone what you actually are.” When it’s Wilford telling someone to relax, it should be taken seriously. “Aside from me, I figured it out-” He stood up straight with a prideful smirk.  
    That is, until Henrik interrupted him. “-I told you; and if I remember, you  _fainted_  after I proved myself by looking like you.” Wilford’s smirk turned into a faltered smile like his balloon of pride had been popped with a needle. “ ** _Anyways_** ,” Henrik interjected after a prolonged moment of silence. “I should be headed to work. Well,  _his_ work, at least.”  
    “ _Oh?_  You’re actually going to that  _moron’s_  job?” Wilford asked, relaxing back against the flattened booth seat, the cheap polyester cracking from age.   
    “I kind of have to,” Henrik replied. ”After all, that’s the only way to get access to some files I need.”  
    “You know,” Wilford began. “I could always ‘ _convince_ ’ someone to give them to you.”  
    “And risk what happened last time you hypnotize someone?” Henrik snorted.  
    “ _Hey!_ ” Wilford huffed. “You only asked for me to get you a fish, you didn’t specify from where.”  
    “I wanted fish for  _ **dinner**_ ; not an actual fish from the fuckin  _ **aquarium**_!” Brushing a hand through his slicked back hair, Henrik began to stand up. “Although, I gotta say it was impressive that you managed to get that poor guy to grab a stingray without getting hurt.”  
    “Well I guess I’ll see you after work right?” Wilford assumed, Henrik nodding. “Did you remember the house key?”  
    “ _ **Uh-**_ ” Henrik patted down his ironed uniform, shaking his head. “You’re giving me a ride anyways, so I’ll grab it from you then.”  
    Wilford nodded in agreement, cutting off a piece of his now cold pancakes before putting it in his mouth. “Oh, Henrik?” He hummed with a smile. “Barnaby’s eyes were brown, not blue.”  
    Henrik nodded with a small chuckle. “I’ll make sure to change that on the way there. See you later, Wilf.” With that, the taller man left.  
    Most of work day was uneventful; having to run documents and case files back and forth from floor to floor for hours on end. God, when he envisioned impersonating a police officer, he imagined something more exciting than being a polished errand boy. Yet here he was, with his hopes crushed like the cheap Styrofoam cups overflowing in his own office. Once he got the chance to sit down in said office, he noticed the stench of rancid coffee beans emanating from the metal trash can. “ _God, didn’t this man ever clean his office?”_  Henrik grumbled, his blue eyes glancing over the mess of paperwork. “Reminds me of my old office,” he commented aloud as he began to sort the mountain of papers scattered across his desk.  
    “Missing your old office? I thought you’d like the bigger space.” The woman in the door frame commented with a sly grin. Henrik, tensing up, looked like he was going to have a  _heart attack_  from the surprise visit. “Well, that’s some way to treat your boss– _and wife_.” _ **Fuck,**  Barnaby was married?_  _How could a fact like that slip by Henrik?_  Well, now he had to add  _‘fake husband’_  onto the things he’s been roped into doing.   
    “ ** _Uh_ -**” he struggled to come up with something to say. “I just wasn’t expecting you to drop by my office.”  
    She let out a soft chuckle before she spoke again. “Is that so?” Her voice was as sweet as honey, each word holding a melodic tune. “We’ve been planning to go get lunch for the past week. I figured we could do that today.”  
    “I’m busy,” he replied. That probably wasn’t the _best_ option as he noted her smirk dropping.  
    “ _Oh_? With what?” She asked, crossing her arms.  
    “Work.” Man, he seemed good at accidentally pissing people off as the woman huffed.   
    “Then I won’t disturb you. I’ll see you at home.” Her tone was bitter as she left, Henrik not seeming to pick up on this.   
    As he got back to work organizing, the knock against his open door frame made him sigh. Why can’t people leave him the fuck alone today? “What do you wa-” his words were cut off when he heard the man speak, his tone calm and factual.  
    “Host can sense that Henrik is-”  
    Henrik shot up from his desk, practically _sprinting_ towards Host as soon as he heard his name leave the other’s mouth. Yanking Host by his coat, he closed the door behind them as Host was pushed into the middle of his office. “Can you not go around saying my fucking name?”   
    “But that is Henrik’s name,” Host retorted.  
    “Not here. Call me Barnaby here–wait,  _what the fuck are you even doing here?_ ” His face paled. “ _How the hell did you get up this far?_ ”  
    “Host told the nice woman that he was a private detective from a different state.” There was a long pause. “Barnaby is surprised with Host lying. He is also wondering where Host got the paperwork he would need for a lie like that. It was provided by-”  
    “ _-Let me guess_ ,” Henrik sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “ _Wilford?_ ” Host gave a single nod. “ _ **I’m going to kill that son of a-**_ ” his mumbles under his breath eventually ended in a frustrated groan.   
    “Host finds something ironic,” he began to speak, catching Henrik’s attention.   
    “And what would that be?”  
    There was a moment of silence from the Host as he moved to sit on the cheaply made couch against the left wall of the office. “Host finds it ironic that Barnaby is impersonating someone who seems to be a polar opposite.”  
    Henrik had a bewildered look upon his face. “ _ **…Care to elaborate?**_ ” He asked after a minute of awkward silence.  
    “Barnaby is a tall, muscular man, correct?” Host questioned, Henrik’s expression turning into a frown. “He is also openly affectionate at work, form what the nice lady in the hall told Host.”  
    “And how is that different from me?”  
    “Henrik is wiry, and short.” There was a quiet minute. “Henrik is glaring at Host for pointing out the truth.”  
    “ _No,_ ” he retorted as he sat down in his desk chair. “I’m glaring at you for using my name. Call me Barnaby around here Host, _and only that_.” There was a nod from the other man.  
    “Host is amused by the difference in facial structures as well.” It was true there were a lot of difference between Henrik and Barnaby; this including that Henrik would only come up to the man’s shoulders. Let alone that Barnaby was built like a silo, and his jaw was as sharp as a knife. Meanwhile Henrik’s features were soft and rounded. “Host did not mean for Barnaby to dwell on these comments. That is not why Host visited.”  
    “ _Speaking of which,_ ” Henrik began to speak while he resumed cleaning off his desk. “I don’t mind having you here, but why did you visit?”  
    “To warn Barnaby.”  
    “ _Oh cause **that’s**  not  **worrying**_ ,” Henrik glanced up from his desk, his eyes focusing on Host. “Warn me of what?”  
    “Host wanted to warn Barnaby about the people here. They all are not honest.”  
    Henrik chuckled, taking note that the desk he leaned his arms on was black; a fact that had been covered by the layers of papers before. “Host, that was a given. People have secrets. But you can’t stay here.” Finally Henrik cracked a slight smile towards his friend. “I’ll see you at home, but you can’t get caught here because there’s only so much I could do without exposing who I am.”  
    “So Barnaby will not heed Host’s warning?”  
    The taller man sighed, pushing himself away from his desk to stand up. “I promise I’ll be careful.” Going over to Host, Henrik took his arm with a gentle grip. “Time for you to go home okay? Tell Wilford I’ll be done here in about three more hours, okay?”  
    There was a nod from the blind man, him being led to the door before opening it. “Host will see Barnaby later.” With that, he left the other to work in peace.   
It wasn’t long before the minutes seemed to blur into hours, the ringing of his phone snapping him out from the dull churn of work. Digging his phone out of his pocket, he pressed the small green button as he saw Wilford’s number pop up. “Yeah?” He groggily asked.  
    “ ** _Well don’t sound too excited,_** ” Wilford jokes.  
    “Just what do you want?”  
    “ _What do **I** want?_” Wilford paused for a minute. “It’s more like what  _you_  want.”  
    “ _Wh-_ ” Henrik glanced up at the clock, his face paling as the fact stuck him like a shovel to the back of his head. “ _Shit!_ ”  
    “Yeah, I’ve been waiting out here for thirty minutes.”  
    “Sorry!” Henrik shouted, closing the file on his desk before standing up. Rushing out of his office, Henrik ran down the stairs and out of the building. Completely ignoring a few coworkers trying to tell him goodbye, Henrik mumbled into his phone. “I’m out here, now where the fuck are y-” His words were cut off as he bumped into someone, looking up from the street to glare at the man. “Watch where you’re going,” he commented to the man.  
    “If I’m correct,  _you bumped into me,_ ” the stranger commented, adjusting his posture. “You’re Officer  _Jones_ , correct?”  
_Was that Barnaby’s last name?_  That fact seemed to slip by Henrik. “ _Er_ -  _yes,_  I am. What about it?”  
    The man seemed off put by how he was spoken to. “I was merely wondering. Have you forgotten me already?”  
    “ _I see a lot of different faces,_ ” he defended himself.   
    “ _ **So it would seem**_.” Something about this man didn’t sit right with Henrik. Perhaps it was how could he was, the air around the man seeming to turn frigid. Hell, Henrik could’ve sworn he saw his own breath coming out like frost for a moment. Or maybe it was the way the man seemed to loom over him with his hands behind his back. Either way, Henrik didn’t like the feeling he got from this stranger. “No matter, you’ll get a reminder of who I am _tomorrow._ ”  
    “ _What?_ ” Henrik asked, furrowing his brows in a quizzical expression. “Why not tell me who you are instead of  _playing the fucking **pronoun game?**_ ”  
    “ _The…_ ” the man seemed genuinely surprised by this snapped comment. “ _ **The what?”**_  
    Henrik sighed. “You know, the whole  _‘I, he, she’_  thing instead of just  _saying who you are?”_  
    The man gave him a blank expression. “I don’t recall you being this… _ **outspoken.**_ ” He finally stated, frowning down at Henrik. The man leaned in close to Henrik, the impersonator’s eyes going wide at how close the other man’s face got to his own.   
    “ _What the fuck are you doing?_ ” He asked in a cynical tone, backing up from the man who seemed to study his face.  
    The man stood up straight again. “ _Are you wearing contacts?_ ”  
    Henrik froze. “ _ **Uh-** yeah!_”  
    “I was not aware you had vision problems.” The man stated. “Why did you get blue contacts?”  
     _Fuck, he forgot to change it._  “Well,” he struggled for an answer. “I always wanted blue eyes, so I figured I’d give them a shot. They look silly-”  
    “ _ **Yes,**  they do._” The man sighed. “You look preoccupied, we can speak tomorrow. I look forward to working with you on the upcoming case.”  
    Before Henrik could even question him, the man stepped around him and into the building. “ _Wait..What ca-_ ” he frowned as the man left. Lifting the phone back up to his ear, Wilford was in the middle of saying something.  
    “ _-Ignoring me now?_ ” Wilford asked.  
    “Sorry, something  _weird_  just happened.”  
    “ _ **Oh?**_ ” He hummed. “What was it?”  
    Henrik was silent for a minute. “Nothing,” he grumbled. “I’m outside the main doors. Come and get me.” Before he could get a response, he hung up the phone.  _Just exactly who was that guy?_  Henrik couldn’t shake the chill clinging to his spine, his jaw seeming to tense up as he gritted his teeth. He dreaded coming into work tomorrow, but as Wilford pulled up to the side of the road, he decided he’d leave those thought to dwell on the pavement where he stood.  
     _ **Tomorrow would be a new day.**_


End file.
